


tipsy tales

by ElasticElla



Series: tipsy tales [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV), Elementary (TV), Queen Sugar (TV), Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Crossover Pairings, Established Relationship, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, Training, Treasure Hunting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-06-07 04:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6785830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of one shots (hah) written while intoxicated<br/>chapter titles are the ship & prompt</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Daisy/Melinda + touch

**Author's Note:**

> all of these were originally posted to tumblr, and can be found in [this tag](http://parkwest.tumblr.com/tagged/tipsy-tales)

Training with May is _nothing_ like training with Ward. Besides the whole looking back at her first trainings bitterly, Skye feels hyper-aware of May.

At the very least it should keep her from getting her ass kicked.

It doesn’t.

Skye just backs away enough to avoid getting kicked, but then she’s too slow to dodge the right uppercut. Melinda’s lips are a thin even line, and Skye can’t help but wonder if she leaned forward what would-

“Did I hit your head?” May asks, and Skye brings her fists back up, getting a tiny smile from her new SO.

“At least you can take a hit. We’ll stop when you touch me.”

Skye gulps, and May’s lips curl up into a cruel smile.

“It doesn’t even have to be a good hit, not today. Tomorrow maybe.”

Skye nods, shifting her weight. She’s hacked into anywhere she wanted, landing one measly hit on well, the best fighter she’s ever seen would… definitely not be cake.

May gives her an unimpressed look when she doesn’t attack, landing a medium hit on her gut.

Skye’s fist comes down where May’s wrist just was, but she’s a second too slow.

“Better,” May says, and Skye supposes she’ll take that. She tries for two quick punches while May’s guard is still down, though she isn’t surprised when May captures both wrists without blinking.

She _is_ surprised by May spinning her around and pressing her up against the nearest wall. May- _Melinda’s_ hot up against her back, breath on her neck, and Skye doesn’t care what the lesson is, hopes she doesn’t back off.

Naturally, her wrists are released the next moment, and Skye spins around, May not even an inch from her face. There’s something new on her face, something Skye can’t quite recognize-

She takes the opportunity, grabbing May’s shoulders and reversing their positions.

Melinda actually looks surprised- or that’s how Skye’s choosing to interpret her eyebrows’ minor twitch.

There’s a breathless moment, and Skye’s _so sure_ she’s about to kiss her- but then Melinda’s ducking out from under her and leaving.

“Good. Tomorrow you’ll land a punch.”


	2. Camille/Maureen + kissing in the rain

“You’re not focusing,” Camille says, and once upon a time Maureen would have taken her seriously, would have straightened up like a soldier. (Maureen’s backbone isn’t porcelain anymore, it’s steel.)

Instead she laughs, head tilted up to the sky while rain patters down. “C'mon Camille, it’s so beautiful.”

Camille huffs, and out of the corner of her eye, Maureen recognizes a familiar pout. “You’re supposed to be practicing.”

“Mhmm,” Maureen says, finally taking her eyes off the sky. (Being able to focus in on any droplet is incredible, and she can’t wait until winter with all the snowflakes.) “What’s today’s lesson again?”

Camille growls low, and Maureen’s lips quirk up into a smile. “Kidding. Recognizing emotions via scent, you’re mad right now.”

Camille rolls her eyes, “Brilliant deduction Watson.”

Maureen stalks over to her, a rough approximation of Camille’s walk, biting back a grin when arousal hits the air. “And now you’re excited.”

Camille leans in close, lips brushing against her ear, “That love, is called cheating.”

And Maureen’s ready, has been waiting for the opening as she turns her head to capture Camille’s lips in a quick kiss.

“I don’t remember any rules for our outing,” Maureen says, and before Camille can argue, she’s kissing her again. Kissing as a vampire is wildly different, ignores the few tricks Maureen learned while human. There isn’t any breathing is the biggest thing, and they can keep kissing until all the rain’s fallen down and the sun threatens to rise.

Maureen’s hands glide over the wet silk of Camille’s dress, and somewhere far away in her mind it registers that she’s wearing a leather jacket. Maureen hopes it wasn’t sentimental, because she sure as hell isn’t going anywhere.

Camille pulls her head back sharply, breaking the kiss and making Maureen gasp.

“How many mundanes?”

Maureen groans, “Are you serious-”

Camille’s other hand pinches her side and Maureen jumps, slapping at the hand.

“Five. Three adults, two kids, and dammit, a baby.”

Camille drops her hands, and Maureen sighs, knowing she won’t be able to distract her sire for the rest of tonight’s lesson.

“Eyes closed,” Camille says, and Maureen’s eyes shut instantly. “What’s the younger child feeling?”


	3. Camille/Clary + fake dating

The thing is, Clary still isn’t sure how she came to be lounging in Camille’s apartment.

Well, that’s not _entirely_ true.

She’s on Camille's… it’s not really a couch, too blatantly expensive and not nearly comfortable enough, because apparently that is what significant others of the previous head of the New York vampire clan did. (And while Clary was tempted to call shenanigans, it wasn’t too hard to imagine Magnus posing for her- and _that_ opened up a can of worms Clary was pointedly ignoring.) Pretending to be dating Camille is, Clary supposes, a step up from actually dating Camille: there’s all the ridiculously expensive nights out on the town, loud couple-y fights, graphic make outs when other people are around, and none of the drama that comes with dating your… ex-nemesis? Enemy in waiting? Potential evil-doer?

Only, Izzy comes across them in a club, and Alec sees them on a patrol, and Simon  _hears_ them once and god, Clary still can’t meet his eyes. Which leads to Izzy sitting her down to have a long chat about keeping secrets in bed (and Clary now has _way more_ insight to her and Meliorn’s sex life than she ever wanted thank you very much), Alec telling Jace, Jace deciding now was the time to fully commit to his big brother role in threatening Camille (it’s cringe-worthy but Clary supposes sweet in intention), and Simon… well, Simon agrees not to talk about the Camille thing and Clary promises not to ask about the new marks on Jace’s neck. Really, it’s the best possible solution.

Only, it doesn’t feel the best possible solution when it seems like Clary is already dating Camille, except for the whole feelings thing. Which, Clary is up in the air on. On the one hand, she _knows_ Camille’s stance on romance and love, but on the other…

Clary looks down to see she’s sketched Camille again mindlessly, her likeness striking even on paper. On the other hand, Clary finishes, she might already love her.


	4. Clary/Izzy + treasure hunter au

“Today we’re going to find treasure,” Clary declares, and Izzy covers up a laugh with a hasty cough.

They’ve come out to the beach… Isabelle’s lost count, hundreds of times, with and without Luke’s awkward to handle- and way too loud- metal detector, without any massive treasure score. Clary still maintains that finding enough change to buy fudge counts as treasure, since there isn’t anything better than Dot’s homemade chocolate and peanut butter fudge.

Izzy decides to give her that.

She isn’t feeling like walking around miles of empty beach though, and she did bring a towel and book. Izzy also knows that Clary’s more likely to give up faster if she’s searching alone, which means more enjoyable time together. Which might be a little conniving, but it’s the summer before their senior year, and Izzy’s going to freak out if she thinks about any of it too much. (God, what if they didn’t get into the same schools? Or even schools in the same state? What if they didn’t-)

Izzy doesn’t even get through a chapter before Clary’s plopped down beside her, half on and off the towel.

“The battery died,” Clary explains and Isabelle shuts the book.

“Sorry to hear that,” Izzy says, watching the waves come in and practicing her nonchalant face.

Clary raises an eyebrow, “Uh huh, you really sound it.”

“I am absolutely beside myself with grief. How ever shall we brighten this miserable day?”

“Ice cream? I found a few dollar coins before the battery died.”

“Cool,” Izzy says, standing up with Clary and shaking the sand off her towel.

“We should probably split a sundae, otherwise we’ll be stuck with two kiddie cones,” Clary says, hand out.

“Sounds good,” Izzy answers, and hands clasped they start the walk back up the hill to where the shops are. (There’s still another month of summer, there’s still _time_.)


	5. Alec/Magnus + brooklyn 99 au

“They’re heading into a restaurant,” Magnus says, eyes on their feed. “Maureen’s Marzipans. You wanna follow or wait them out?”

“And maybe miss the transaction?” Alec says, offended. “Oh we’re following them, now.”

Magnus bites back a smile, this _is_ work after all, but playing- _going_ undercover with Alec is his favorite. For reasons he’d really rather leave unexamined, thank you very much.

The hostess doesn’t have a table until Magnus fakes a recent proposal story and another about their first date being at this very restaurant, and then she’s leading them to a prime table she ‘forgot’ about. Magnus is feeling really good about himself, might have a few new fiance jokes up his sleeve, when she sits them down across from the criminal they’re hoping to catch: Valentine Morgenstern.

And of course, the hostess wishes them a happy engagement before leaving, says their dessert will be on the house. Magnus _is_ pretty excited for the dessert, even if he fakes normal because Alec looks like he’s about to explode. Probably from all the broken rules.

“Hey,” Magnus says lowly, taking his hand, “it’ll be okay.”

“Of course hunny,” Alec says, and it’s such a blatantly not Alec thing to say, but there’s a brief moment where Magnus still pretends it was real. Fuck, he’s in way too deep.

“You’re engaged?” Valentine asks, a smile on his face. “We must pick up your next round! How long have you two been together?”

“A year,” Alec says with a blush, and Magnus immediately knows that’s how long Garroway’s been pairing them up and that’s probably what he’s referring to- but hell, it still makes his stomach quiver.

“How wonderful, how did he propose?” Valentine asks, and Magnus can’t help but jump in, an extravagant proposal on his lips.

.

The deal doesn’t go down in the restaurant, and they end up following Valentine into a park. He spots them of course- it’s like nine pm on a Thursday night and it’s only the three of them there.

Alec goes for the kiss first, keeping up their charade, and Magnus has never been so glad to _not_ be facing a criminal, because with Alec’s lips on his there’s no way in hell he’d catch Valentine.

Alec does of course, breaking their first (fake) liplock with a, “Brooklyn police! Hands in the air!”

And if Magnus is a little slow to draw his weapon, it’s only because he was in a food comma- they _did_ get a free dessert after all.


	6. Charley/Lena + netflix and chill

Lena shows up at the mill at seven, her heels audible all the way from the dirt parking lot. It gives Charley enough time to double check that she hasn’t forgotten a dinner- Fridays were perfect for working late these days. Vi had her night with Hollywood and Micah’s with his ‘friends’. Charley knows he’s seeing that girl, Keke, but she’ll give him a little longer since he hasn’t asked any questions about Lena hanging around when she never had before. (Or maybe Nova told him not to, hell, she might owe Nova an apology over jumping down her throat about not bringing her new girl around.)

Lena walks into her half-renovated office in tight striped Chanel and high Louboutins. She’s stunning and so blatantly out of place that Charley can’t decide if she wants to rip off her dress or take her home. Not _home_ home though, Lena couldn’t stand sharing a bathroom with more than one person, so her apartment it would be. Somewhere she ends up often enough that Vi wants to meet her, still thinks it’s a him, still makes Charley feel guilty. It’s not like Lena _needs_ to be a secret, nor is she really trying all that hard to hide it. But Charley still wants a little more time before Lena comes into the family- for them or her or herself, she couldn’t say.

“You are coming back to mine to destress,” Lena declares, stilettos clicking louder on the wood floor.

Charley raises an eyebrow, fingertips on a contract. “Give me an hour and I’ll be there.”

“No,” Lena says, walking right up to her desk, and planting her fists, leaning in but never going level.

“Excuse-” Charley starts, and this is a new side of Lena, one she hasn’t seen before. She isn’t molding herself to Charley’s whims, she’s interrupting her for fuck’s sake.

“No,” she repeats. “You told me we’d have a date this week, and you’ve been busy all week. When do you need whatever you’re doing done?”

“Tonight,” Charley snaps.

Lena laughs softly, her eyes sparkling as she inches closer. “You’ve always been a shit liar Char. You can distract and manipulate your way out of hell, but you can’t lie worth a damn.”

It doesn’t sting like it once would have, her stomach twisting in a not entirely unpleasant manner. “Tuesday,” she admits.

Lena softens, smiling, a hand reaching up to pet her cheek. “Good. You need some relaxing.”

Charley’s lips twitch, remembers an awkward conversation with her brother, “To netflix and chill?”

Lena laughs, all warm peppermint breath, and she kisses her, quick and teasing. “Yeah.”

And Charley supposes she _can_ just come in earlier on Monday, maybe check in with the workers too. “Alright, you’ve convinced me.”

“Hallelujah,” Lena jokes, and Charley rolls her eyes.

“I can still change my mind,” she grumbles, but she’s already putting her files away and straightening her bag.

“No need to be jealous,” Lena says, linking an arm through hers, “I’ll be singing your name soon enough.”

And Charley grins, knowing it to be true.


	7. Amy/Joan

Joan raises an eyebrow at Sherlock’s casual declaration that she should ‘certainly enter the precinct’s March game’.  

Her eyes narrow, and she replies, feeding Clyde little bits of lettuce. “One: every year you’ve complained that it is an utter waste of everyone’s time and a paltry attempt at morale building and networking between precincts. Two: to even qualify I would need to spend my Sunday evenings in the preliminary matches, and you’ve always insisted Sunday is our cold case night. Three: if I qualify, which I will, you’ll be forced to come support me as I play and then sit through a potential stranger’s victory party. Multiple hours at an over-crowded and loud bar, likely with beverage options that are both overpriced and low quality.”  

“You’re over-feeding Clyde again,” Sherlock says.

“You’re evading!” Joan exclaims, putting the lettuce away, and grabbing a cup of water for herself. “What is it?”

“And you forgot to mention how much I dislike-”

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock looks away, almost guiltily, “Nothing’s happened yet, it isn’t worth counting one’s chickens-”

And it clicks before he can even finish his sentence. “Marcus usually enters the competition, doesn’t he?”

Sherlock stands up abruptly, all the confirmation she needs. “I trust this will not be an issue given your own proclivities.”

Joan chokes on her water as he adds, “I have a skype meeting, goodnight Watson.”

Sherlock is gone before she can clear her throat enough to say anything, and Clyde is giving her a baleful expression. Really, how they acquired such an expressive turtle escapes her.

.

The trick to winning the precinct’s representative is quite simple: knowing how to win with every Mortal Kombat character against every other, and being well versed in the latest iteration of Kombat. The competition is a bracket style, with no wild card or second chances. There’s a coin toss before each match, the winner getting to pick their character or a character for their opponent first. The loser getting  to make the remaining choice.

Joan is perhaps taking this a little too seriously.

(But she hasn’t really _played_ pvp games since high school, before and after focusing more on one-player adventure types.)

Joan beats Marcus mercilessly for the representative spot, and Sherlock takes him out for a sympathy drink. Joan does not feel the teeniest bit bad. Really, one of these days Marcus should be thanking her. (And okay, maybe the victory is getting to her head a bit.)

.

The final showdown is held in Brooklyn, the 99 hosting and having the previous year’s reigning champion representing them. They have a soundproofed questioning room set up with a flat screen and xbox, a large whiteboard in the hallway outside with the brackets.

Joan wins her first round easily, against a douchebag that everyone keeps calling the Vulture for some reason. She watches her competitors, and sure enough, the one she’s worried most about was last year’s champion- Amy Santiago. (Joan can admit it was nice to see Cortes lose after the woman saw they were on opposite sides of the bracket; she had flashed a sarcastic smile her way and a jibe about her being a mere consultant.)

Amy stands next to her in the viewing room, everyone else besides the current competitors eating in the break room.

“I’m Amy, defender of the 99’s glory,” she greets with her hand extended. Joan raises an eyebrow, and Amy’s expression freezes. “Oh god, I said that out loud. Just pretend you didn’t hear anything. Besides my name that is, Amy. I- I swear I’m not always this bad at communicating.”

Joan takes her hand with a small smile, “Joan. And I heard you trash talking Cortes earlier, you don’t have to convince me.”

Amy somehow looks even more embarrassed at that, “I should go apologize to her. The things I said about her mother were downright cruel.”

Joan shrugs, “She returned in kind. If you talk about _my_ mother that way though, you’ll be losing much faster.”

“Oh yeah? Quite the confident consultant are we?”

Joan’s eyes narrow, and Amy hastily adds on, “Not that I made a binder on everyone when the names were announced. Ha-ha that would be creepy and probably not even help that much.”

“My next round is against Ross, he will be feeling full and full of himself from thinking his flirting with everyone here is working. He’ll pick some overly large hyper masculine character, and I’ll pick someone smaller and more agile to take him down. Next round will be against Penny, she’s good but she focuses too much on combos and if they’re off she can’t win. Sterling will be next, he will be cocky having decimated his last three rounds and probably pick his favorite character for sentimental reasons. He’ll be lazy and the easiest match of the day. Then I’ll play you.”

Amy’s pupils are dilated, and Joan honestly isn’t sure what’s going on in the interrogation-competition room right now. Amy swallows, eyes flicking down, “That’s quite the deductive reasoning you have there. What happens when we play?”

Joan licks her lips, watches Amy follow the movement. “I don’t know. I do know after, the loser is buying drinks.”

Amy laughs brightly, tension softened if not broken. “You’re on.”

It takes another three hours, but they finally do face off.

(And the loser _does_ buy the drinks.)


End file.
